


Those Are Nice

by ReederJoe



Series: The Amazing One-Shots Are Not On Fire [4]
Category: Phandom, dan and phil
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Phan - Freeform, Phil being a literal angel, body image discussion, mentions of depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 04:19:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9218609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReederJoe/pseuds/ReederJoe
Summary: Dan's in a self-hating mood, and Phil loves to remind him of all the reasons he's wrong.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Would you believe this thing started as a thing where Dan was gonna teach Phil how to play piano? Idek anymore. It just takes off without me.

Dan was self-conscious about a lot of things, from his too-squishy tummy (in his opinion, at least- Phil loved it) to his eyes that were not a very interesting color. These things kept him up at night sometimes, and he'd end up pacing the hall trying to figure out what people liked so much about him- especially Phil. What did Phil see in him that made him stay? They obviously saw two very different things when they looked at him, because Dan saw a collection of failures representing a sarcastic twat who just so happened to possess the kind of humour that people actually enjoy.

To be quite honest, Phil wanted to slap him silly when Dan thought these things. Because while Dan saw a "muffin top" and too much flab over his hips, Phil saw the physical proof that Dan had overcome the depression eating away at him for who knew how long before he met Phil. Whenever Phil would see that bit of a gut hanging ever so slightly over the waistband of Dan's jeans, he'd smile because there'd been a time when Dan's pants wouldn't stay up and his hipbones would jut out almost unnaturally because there was nothing but skin covering them. Phil had loved him then, too, of course, but those early months of their relationship had been full of concern that Dan would spiral back into that dark place he'd seemingly just escaped from.

Whenever Phil would catch Dan pinching his skin between his fingers and making distasteful remarks, Phil would saunter up behind him and wrap an arm around his waist, covering Dan's hands with his own and gently prodding them away. "What is it today, love?" Phil would ask gently, carefully leaving out any inflection of judgement or criticism in his voice. He usually already knew based on where Dan had been poking his fingers, but he knew it helped to make Dan talk about it.

"Nothing," Dan would always say, patting Phil's arm with too much enthusiasm. It didn't matter how many times this happened; Phil would always ask again. He'd pull Dan close to him, turn him around so he could see Dan's face, and he'd hold his hands on Dan's sides almost possessively, slipping his fingers under the hem of Dan's shirt and resting his palms on the bare skin of his most ticklish spots. Dan would usually grimace at the contact, because he hated how Phil insisted on touching his love handles (even though they were nothing more than tiny pockets of extra chub, and nobody could even see them unless he wore jeans three sizes too small) but eventually, he'd give it up and bury his face in Phil's shoulder and mutter something about flabbiness or too much skin or just being plain ugly-

"You're beautiful." Phil would cut him off with those same words each time, and there was a small part of Dan that always wanted to demand to know exactly what it was that was so great about him, what was so wonderful about Dan that made Phil want to stay, even though Phil told him every single day and they'd been together for six years now and Phil had no intentions of ever leaving. The nice thing about it was that Dan never had to voice that question out loud; Phil went ahead and told him, anyway.

"Your skin is beautiful," Phil would say with a smile, lifting Dan's hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to his palm. "Your eyes are gorgeous," he'd continue, lifting Dan's chin to look into them. "They're the color of my favourite sweets" (Of course, only Phil would be able to say something like that and make it sound romantic). He'd reach a finger out to _bop_ the end of Dan's nose, -"This, too"- and then trail that finger down to stroke his cheek, circling the dimple everyone in the world loved. "And this sad dimple." They'd both be smiling by now, and that would only make it more prominent. "It should be the only sad part of you." Dan would always laugh when Phil whipped out that line, and Phil knew that, so he always did.

"What about these?" Dan would ask, touching his lips with the tip of his index finger. He was feeling so much better by this point, and it was always around this time that he wondered how he could feel so bad when this little personal saviour was right in front of him. There would be other times, later on, and he'd feel like shit again. He didn't think it would ever go away completely, but he knew he'd be okay with Phil there. Even if _that_ urge ever came back, he knew Phil could help him deal with it.

"Those are nice, too," Phil would finish, eyes crinkling up from smiling so wide, and he'd put his hands on Dan's cheeks, curl his fingers into the hair at the nape of Dan's neck, and pull him in for a kiss. Dan's arms would wind around Phil's waist and he'd hold them as close as possible while Phil's lips massaged his own, and for that little stretch of time, there was no room for Dan to hate himself. There was no space left for anything but the acknowledgment of Phil's skin on his, bodies pressing together in a not-very-innocent way.


End file.
